


One April Night

by Domina_Temporis



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, RMS Titanic, Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:54:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1216780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Domina_Temporis/pseuds/Domina_Temporis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote this for Sherlockology's Empty House contest a couple of years ago and just never posted it until now. Holmes and Watson find themselves on the RMS Titanic, and what happened to them that night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Holmes and I were on our way to visit our former colonies across the Atlantic, he as consultant in the murder of a prominent New York City politician, I as his biographer and companion. He and I saw each other rarely since his retirement to Sussex, and I was looking forward to both the voyage and the time spent in the United States, a country I had never visited but which was becoming so important to the future of our world. In addition, when Holmes mentioned he had arranged for us to sail in second class on Titanic’s maiden voyage, I found myself captivated by the great ship. Not only was she the largest ship yet built, it was said that she was practically unsinkable, although when I mentioned this to Holmes he only laughed derisively, saying that no machine made of iron and steel could be immune to the elements.

I was reminded of his comment as I woke in the middle of that cold Sunday night with an odd feeling that something was wrong. I lay in my cabin for several minutes, trying to determine what was disturbing me. Finally I realized that the engines, which had been running with a comforting hum for the past five days, had stopped. Knowing we were not due to arrive in New York until Wednesday, I arose and began to dress. Instincts, both from my days as a solider and from many years as Sherlock Holmes’s biographer, told me that I should not ignore this situation. I dressed quickly and went looking for Holmes. Upon entering his cabin, I found him dressed as well and completely calm.

“You have noticed the engines have stopped,” I said to him.

“Indeed I have, Watson. A strange thing to happen when we are not due near land for another four days,” my friend answered. “I wonder if you would be good enough to find a steward and find out what is the matter.”

I went into the corridor to find several of our neighbors entering the corridor, evidently for the same reason. Some were fully dressed; others had coats thrown over their nightclothes. “Excuse me,” I said as I saw a steward pass by, “But could you tell me why the engines have stopped?”

“I suspect it’s nothing much, sir. We’ve likely dropped a propeller blade,” the man answered before going on his way. His answer seemed to reassure many of those in the corridor, for they went back into their cabins, but when I reported this response to Holmes, he insisted on going in search of an officer. As we headed up the stairs, I noticed something odd. The stairs were slightly off balance, as if they were tipping too far forward.

“Holmes,” I said, “The stairs feel unbalanced.” 

Holmes looked back at me, and his normally reticent features were furrowed with concern, “Come, Watson. I suspect there is not a moment to lose.”

Upon reaching the boat deck, the sharpness of the cold took my breath away. There was no moon, and the sky was ablaze with stars, many more than I was accustomed to through the fog and haze of London. There were several groups of people about, passengers clustered together, crew members bustling around and officers hurrying to and fro. As I glanced around, I noticed the deck was covered in ice of varying sizes and shapes. “I believe the ship has hit an iceberg,” Holmes said to me in a tone of mild interest.

It seemed a sound deduction to me, as I walked among the passengers, catching snippets of conversation, “Did you see it?” “They said it was almost a hundred feet tall.” It was then that a cacophony of noise began to sound from the funnels, drowning out all conversation. Holmes and I ambled among the passengers on deck for a time, watching the busyness of it all. Officers continued to pass by, once we even saw the captain, followed by a man wearing only an overcoat over his pajamas: both looked tense, and Holmes and I glanced at each other. Surely this could not be overly serious?

I had always been susceptible to cold, ever since receiving my leg wound at Maiwand, and the bitter temperatures soon brought out my slight limp. Holmes slipped his arm through mine without a word and we turned toward the ship’s gymnasium, where many of the passengers had already gathered. I recognized several from the society pages of the newspapers; John Jacob Astor, known to be the wealthiest man on the ship, was seated on one of the mechanical camels, showing his young wife what was inside the lifebelts. “Holmes,” I said, suddenly reminded, “We left our lifebelts in our cabins.”

“It cannot as serious as all that, Watson!” Holmes admonished me, surprise lighting up his sharp eyes. “You ought to know by now not to theorize before all the facts are known.”

“All the same, it is a useful precaution to take,” I answered, somewhat irritated at this cavalier attitude. Preparation for any situation is a central aspect of a soldier’s life, and surely the captain would not look so tense if nothing was the matter. But perhaps Holmes was right and the problem was a minor one. The atmosphere within the gymnasium was anything but somber; in fact, it was more akin to a social gathering as many of the first class passengers gathered together and began speculating as to the cause of the delay. Holmes passed the time by deducing some of them for me; this was an old pastime of his, but I could tell he was barely concentrating on his observations tonight.

I glanced at my watch; it was now 12:15, and we could hear cheerful music coming from the boat deck; glancing out the window, I could see the band had come outside and was playing for the groups of passengers still gathered around the lifeboats. It was all cheerful music, as if this was an ordinary evening, and I saw Holmes tilt his head to one side, judging their violinist. “This new style is slightly too jaunty for my taste,” he pronounced. 

I chuckled, “You are too set in your ways, Holmes. I find it light, and considerably more enjoyable than some of the more serious compositions I’ve heard.” Holmes appeared about to launch into a debate of musical compositions, which no doubt would have been enlightening, but he first happened to glance out the gymnasium windows and quietly called my attention to what he’d seen. The officers were beginning to uncover the lifeboats. We looked at each other and, silently agreeing, went back to our cabins and retrieved our lifebelts.


	2. Chapter 2

On returning to the deck in barely ten minutes, the situation had hardly changed. One of the officers was trying with little success to convince onlookers to enter the lifeboats, but only a few had thus far obeyed. I could not find it in myself to blame them; it was bitterly cold and the ship was cheerfully lit. The danger seemed slight, at least in comparison to being lowered in one of those open boats. Holmes ignored this and began asking those standing around if they had any facts; hardly anyone seemed to. I found myself standing next to a gentleman who was trying to assist in loading the boats, but was having no more luck than the officer we had seen. I inquired if he needed any help, and he responded, “It’s just that no one will enter the boats. We’re having real trouble convincing them that there is any danger.”

“Is there?” I asked, hoping that I had come across someone who knew what was actually happening.

The man stopped and looked at me, “Forgive me, but I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure…?”

“Dr. John Watson,”

He looked up in sudden recognition. “Not the author of the Sherlock Holmes stories?”

“The very same,” I answered with a smile. “Pleased to meet you, Mr…?”

“Andrews,” he responded. “Thomas Andrews, ship’s designer. You were asking about the danger…You are known to be discreet, so I will not lie to you Dr. Watson. She is in very grave danger. In fact I don’t believe she will last the night, although I must ask you not to spread it around in the interest of preserving order.”

I was astounded. This magnificent ship, which everyone had declared practically unsinkable, was destined not even to finish one voyage. With horror, I thought back to the scene near the lifeboat. They had begun to lower the boat while it was barely half full; if they continued like this the death toll would be immense. I barely managed to thank Mr. Andrews before I was rushing to find Holmes. “Holmes!” I called when I saw him, still by Lifeboat 7, which had apparently been lowered. “Holmes, I have been told the ship will founder, by no less a person than her designer,” I said quietly. 

Sherlock Holmes looked around at the scene in front of us. A second lifeboat was being lowered, still less than half full, “If they continue to lower the boats in this manner, the majority of people will not escape the ship,” he said thoughtfully. 

As I watched, noticing how many of the men were sending their wives and children away, I said, “Surely there are enough spaces for everyone?” I could not imagine the loss of life this would entail, and with a growing feeling of horror, I realized this meant Holmes and I would likely not escape the ship.

“You forget, Watson, my brother Mycroft’s government position,” Holmes said as we moved from the starboard side to port.

“You mean that he is the British government?”

“Precisely. According to the British Board of Trade, a ship over 10,000 tons need only carry sixteen lifeboats,” Holmes answered, leaving me stunned, not only at the depths of his knowledge, but at the ramifications for those still onboard. This must be why Mr. Andrews had asked me not to spread the news around; the panic created would be disastrous.

On the port side, the lowering of the boats seemed to be even stricter; the Second Officer refused to allow any men to enter the lifeboats, save crewmen to help row. Holmes and I stayed in the background; we certainly would not enter a boat before the women were safely off the ship. There were no signs of panic; the only problem apparent was how few people were entering the lifeboats.

At about 1 AM, I watched as an elderly woman started to enter Lifeboat 8, then stopped and told her husband that they had been together for many years, and she would not leave him. I caught my breath at the level of devotion, for it reminded me of Mary, and I wondered if we would have been as devoted had she lived. I believe even Holmes was affected, for he watched them until they left his view. “Watson,” he said, “If we should not survive this night…I am sorry for getting you into this. You wouldn’t be on this ship if it were not for my asking you to accompany me.”

I looked back at him, aware that Holmes rarely showed any emotion to anyone, “It is quite all right, Holmes. You know I would rather be nowhere else that at your side on one of your cases.” I solemnly held out my hand, and he shook it, both of us very aware that we might never meet again after this night.

We remained there for some time, not speaking as the deck continued to slant beneath our feet. When we could no longer stand still, we walked up and down the deck, taking in the horrific scene before us. Lifeboat after lifeboat was lowered, and still none were full. Men were calmly leading their wives to the boats, then stepping back gallantly, without a thought for their own lives. Others tried to enter the boats, only to be pushed back by officers. The scene was becoming more chaotic, and several times Holmes and I were pushed aside roughly by the hordes of people rushing toward the rising stern. I started to follow, thinking only to stay above the freezing water for as long as possible, but Holmes caught my wrist, pulling me back, “No, Watson. It will be much more difficult to swim clear of the ship from there. We should remain close to the bow, and attempt to float off as the ship goes under.”

I was somewhat dubious about this plan, but followed Holmes dutifully towards the bow. The deck was now so steep the boats were being loaded from the promenade one deck below. I forced myself not to think of how many people would not survive. The best antidote to sorrow was work, as Holmes had once said, so I began trying to find some way in which I could be useful. I saw several crewmen attempting to bring a lifeboat down from the top of the nearest roof, and Holmes and I went to offer our assistance. All semblance of order had now disappeared; and it was all we could do to let the boat fall onto the deck amidst the rush of people and water.

I saw the wave before it reached us, and in a moment of panic I started to run toward the stern, but then remembered what Holmes had said, and turned to face the bow, just in time to see Holmes, who was nearer the bow than I was, get pulled under by the wave. “Holmes!” I called, but I was too far away to do anything, and instinctively clung to the lifeboat, Collapsible B, as it was washed off the ship. The icy water felt like knives and I lost all sense of where I was, before I cleared my head, and began to swim as far from Titanic as I could. The collapsible was floating upside down several meters away; although I didn’t remember losing my hold on it. There were several other men climbing on top of it already, and I joined them. For several minutes, it seemed likely that our lifeboat would sink as well; so many people were trying to climb aboard, and I focused all my concentration on trying to remain upright. The situation remained like this until an officer climbed aboard and quickly took command. I recognized him as Second Officer Lightoller, who had been loading the port-side lifeboats. He organized us and called out which way we should lean to prevent the lifeboat from foundering. This repetitive action and the cold combined to send me into a numb state, in which the only thought I had was What had happened to Holmes? Hearing the sound of hundreds of people dying in the water, a horrific wail that I will never forget, only made these thoughts worse. Holmes was out there somewhere, and I could do nothing to help him. We had no ability to steer, and even if we did, we were so precariously balanced that taking on any more people would cause us to capsize. Gradually, the screaming stopped, which was worse in many ways because everyone knew what that meant. No one could survive long in water of that temperature.

All night, we remained standing on the overturned Collapsible B. I had lost all sensation in my feet due to the freezing temperature, but that was negligible compared to the despair of the situation. Even if a ship did arrive, which was unlikely in itself, we might very well be dead of cold by then. I knew well the effects of cold, and how long we would be able to last without food and water in this environment. I tried to fight the hopelessness rising in my mind, but I found myself unequal to the task. The only clear thought in my mind was that, once again, I had been witness to Holmes’s death, and was unable to do anything about it. I tried to apply his rational deductive reasoning, telling myself that it was a mistake to theorize without facts; that he could have been picked up by another boat, but it seemed unlikely. I had not noticed many lifeboats returning to the scene, and I faced the prospect of mourning Holmes for a second time. The grief threatened to take over, and I quickly shut it down, knowing that I would not survive if I gave in.

At dawn, we saw the lights of a ship in the distance. We struggled to contain our relief; the ocean was no longer calm, and any extra movement would result in our foundering. I began to lose hope that we would reach our rescuer, until a passing lifeboat, Number 12, took us aboard. Even so, it took us hours to reach the ship, not arriving until noon. As I began to climb the rope ladder, I saw that our rescuer was called the Carpathia. As soon as I arrived on board, I was asked my name and handed a mug of tea. I was so exhausted and cold I didn’t realize for several seconds that Holmes was the one who had handed it to me. “Holmes!” I exclaimed, sure I was seeing a figment of my imagination, “How on earth did you survive?”

“I was picked out of the water by a nearby lifeboat. Number 4, I believe,” he said quietly, and on closer inspection I could see he looked as tired as I had ever seen him. I cannot describe how relieved I was at seeing him, and I believe he felt the same, for he had clearly remained at Carpathia’s rail, waiting to see if I had been saved. Many times, Holmes and I had escaped certain death, but the sheer tragedy of the Titanic cast a shadow not only over our lives, but the entire world in a way we had not seen before.


End file.
